


Finding My Way Home

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Adara Birthday Celebration [24]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Derek Comes Back, Don’t copy to another site, Dystopia, Established Relationship, M/M, Protective Derek Hale, dystopian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 07:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17178806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: It took only three days for Derek to decide he had to go home. He couldn’t stay in New York. He had to head out and find Stiles. He knew it was insane, that it would take him days,weeksto get to Beacon Hills, but he didn’t think about that. He just found some paper and started making a list of what he needed.One of his neighbours broke in while he was getting ready to leave. They came at him with a knife, intent on scaring him off so they could take what they needed. He insisted he was leaving and they could grab whatever once he was gone. It wasn’t good enough, because they were terrified and desperate. He didn’t think the guy had ever hurt anyone before—his name was Jerry, he worked in a bank, and was generally a nice person—but he seemed crazy enough not to worry about it this time.He swung the knife. Derek caught it in his hand, stared Jerry down, and flashed blue eyes at him. Jerry had run, but Derek knew he’d be back with more people. He’d come back insisting Derek in apartment seventeen was one of those monsters they’d been hearing about. He needed to get out.





	Finding My Way Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara/gifts).



> Happy Birthday [Adara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara/pseuds/adara)!!!
> 
> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

Derek didn’t even remember what it was about. He knew it was bad, he knew they’d been shouting, he was pretty sure he’d even wolfed out at one point. Stiles had said something he probably didn’t mean. Derek had _definitely_  said something he didn’t mean. More shouting, and when Derek woke up the next morning, it was to an empty bed and a text on his phone that just proclaimed Stiles needed to clear his head and he was heading home.

Derek hadn’t even bothered to call to make sure he’d arrived safely. He’d just been so fucking mad, literally enraged, that a small part of him hadn’t wanted to make sure. He wished he’d thrown that part of himself right off a cliff and called Stiles immediately. He probably would’ve been on the plane when Derek called, but he should’ve called even the sheriff. Or Scott. Just— _anyone_  to make sure that Stiles had made it okay.

Because now he had no idea, and he was slowly losing his mind because what if Stiles _wasn’t_  okay? And even if he’d managed to land before shit hit the fan, there was no airport in Beacon Hills. What if he’d landed in Sacramento and then been stuck there? Away from the pack, and his father, and _safety_?

Not that Derek thought Stiles was helpless, but things had changed drastically overnight. Derek knew it was overnight because he’d been awake when it had started. He’d been sitting watching TV in the living room, some random cooking show, when all the power went out. Not a big deal, it happened sometimes, but it was when his phone didn’t work that he realized something was wrong. Because while power and WiFi were down, his phone should’ve still worked on data. But it didn’t. It wouldn’t even turn on.

He’d gone outside to see if anyone else knew what was going on, and discovered that nobody’s cars were working, either. Literally nothing was working anymore, like someone had set off an EMP over New York City.

Turned out that was exactly what had happened, except it wasn’t just over New York, it was over North America in general. He didn’t know why it had happened, or who was responsible, or what was going on, he just knew all electronics now ceased to work.

At first, he hadn’t thought of it being a problem. He’d gone home and found some candles and read a book for a few hours. It wasn’t until he got into bed and was ready to fall asleep that his stomach bottomed out and his eyes snapped open.

Because Stiles was on a plane. Had the plane landed before everything died? Had planes even been affected? What if they were fine up to a certain altitude and Stiles had been in the process of landing at the time? What if his plane had gotten caught in the EMP and it had crashed?

Needless to say, Derek hadn’t gotten any sleep that night, which wasn’t helped when he went out to talk to his neighbours the next morning and they said they’d heard from others that planes had crashed all over the city throughout the course of the evening. That did nothing for Derek’s nerves.

But he was trying to be optimistic. He was positive that Stiles would be okay. He’d made it to Sacramento, his dad had picked him up, he’d made it to Beacon Hills, everyone was fine. They were all fine.

Three days later is when things really started to hit. Because people started going crazy. With no money to buy goods, it turned into a bartering system, which quickly dissolved into violence. People started attacking other people, and with power out, it was the perfect opportunity for the things that went bump in the night to pull out of the shadows.

Humans couldn’t see in the dark, and candles did very little to cast light on immediate surroundings. People were being attacked constantly, and that only caused Derek further anxiety, because Beacon Hills was already a cesspool of horrors, and now Derek was here, away from the pack, and his boyfriend was there.

He knew Scott would keep him safe, keep all of them safe, but it didn’t help his anxiety. It didn’t stop him from panicking over what was happening out there, what new monsters were coming out of the woodworks, what the good people of Beacon Hills were becoming at the prospect of no food and clean water.

It took only three days for Derek to decide he had to go home. He couldn’t stay in New York. He had to head out and find Stiles. He knew it was insane, that it would take him days, _weeks_  to get to Beacon Hills, but he didn’t think about that. He just found some paper and started making a list of what he needed.

One of his neighbours broke in while he was getting ready to leave. They came at him with a knife, intent on scaring him off so they could take what they needed. He insisted he was leaving and they could grab whatever once he was gone. It wasn’t good enough, because they were terrified and desperate. He didn’t think the guy had ever hurt anyone before—his name was Jerry, he worked in a bank, and was generally a nice person—but he seemed crazy enough not to worry about it this time.

He swung the knife. Derek caught it in his hand, stared Jerry down, and flashed blue eyes at him. Jerry had run, but Derek knew he’d be back with more people. He’d come back insisting Derek in apartment seventeen was one of those monsters they’d been hearing about. He needed to get out.

He barricaded the door because he still had to pack, and then went about getting things organized. He emptied all the containers he could find that would carry water, and loaded up a duffel bag with those and whatever non-perishable food they had. Then he put in some changes of clothes—though not very many, he had clothes at the loft, he didn’t worry about his hygiene on the road—and then stared at the bed for a long while.

There wasn’t enough space in his duffel. He knew there wasn’t. But he couldn’t leave it behind, because he knew Stiles had probably been too angry to remember it.

Sighing, Derek pulled a few shirts out, then grabbed Stiles’ pillow and shoved it into his duffel. It barely fit, but he managed to zip it up, and even shoved two of the five discarded shirts into side pockets. It just didn’t seem right leaving Stiles’ pillow there, Derek knew Stiles had a hard time sleeping without his pillow.

When he was done, he picked up the bag and then headed for the window, since the barricaded door would take too much effort. Before exiting the apartment, he turned to look at it, feeling his chest aching. This had been his home with Stiles for the past two years. This was a place where Derek had thought they could be happy, where things would be different for them. And they had been, and would’ve continued to be. Except Stiles was on the other side of the country, provided he’d made it at all, and home just wasn’t home without Stiles at his side.

He walked back into the living room and started taking apart all the picture frame, pulling the photos out and shoving them into his pocket. Some belonged to Stiles, but he didn’t care. This was all they had left, so he grabbed them all and then returned to the window. He didn’t look back this time when he climbed out, duffel over one shoulder. He had to scale down the side of the building, but it wasn’t too bad. Most people had balconies and it was easy to jump from one ledge to another. He supposed being a Werewolf made that easier.

The streets were a wreck, people were everywhere, and most of the cars were on fire. Derek never understood why that was people’s first instinct. To set cars on fire. He knew it happened, even during regular riots, because he’d seen a fair few angry riots in his life.

Derek steered clear of all the larger flames, not wanting to have an episode in the middle of the road where anyone could attack him and steal what little he had. He got jumped twice on his way out of town, but repelled both groups easily. The first was only three guys, so that had been laughable. The second was tougher, because it was a larger group with weapons. He was just thankful he was a Werewolf, but also acknowledged that he would eventually run into others of the same gene as him so he had to stay alert.

It didn’t take him long to remember that he needed to cross the Hudson River to get across to the other side. That wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He wasn’t interested in swimming across, so he had to detour to take the Holland Tunnel, which was the closest crossing. He managed to make it there without any problems, but once he was on the threshold, he had to pause.

It was pitch black, and while he could see in the dark thanks to being a Werewolf, he honestly wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to go in there right now in the middle of the night. Then again, night or day, it would’ve change the level of light in the tunnel. It was going to be dark either way.

Letting out a slow breath, he pulled one of the pictures of Stiles out of his pocket and stared down at it. He looked so happy, with a stupid grin, and sparkling eyes, hanging all over Derek.

He had to make it back to Beacon Hills. He had to find Stiles. Nothing else mattered anymore. Stiles was literally his only reason for living anymore, and he couldn’t lose him. He didn’t care how long it took or what came at him, Derek was going to survive and he was going to make it back to him.

Putting the picture back in his pocket, Derek re-arranged the strap of the duffel so it was across one shoulder, then narrowed his eyes. He walked into the tunnel, keeping his head tilted for any noises and his eyes peeled. Any of the various monsters hiding out in here who saw him would assume he was just a regular human, so he had that going for him. Humans themselves wouldn’t even be able to see him, and he’d notice them long before they saw him, anyway.

He’d actually made it at least halfway before encountering anyone. Derek felt like he should’ve been smart and left town the instant he realized something had happened, but he’d been dumb enough to think maybe the government would fix this. He didn’t know _why_  he’d been stupid enough to think that, considering all the rich people probably had underground bunkers that were working. He didn’t know if the EMP would’ve hit far enough underground to reach all the various safehouses the government and rich fucks had.

He was halfway through the tunnel when movement caught his eye and he paused. He was looking out of the corner of his eye, wanting to make it seem as if he’d heard something, but not seen it. He waited for a few seconds, then people unfolded themselves from the darkness. They smelled foul, like death, and it didn’t take long for him to realize they were Vampires.

Vampires living in a tunnel. Kind of smart, when he really thought about it. The only way across the Hudson without swimming was through the two tunnels, so it made sense they’d camp out there.

He waited while they approached, whispering creepily and obviously trying to scare him. He tried to think like a human and tensed, looking around, trying to act nervous. He figured if he made them think he wasn’t what he was, it would be easier to take them out.

He was right. They approached and started playing with him, poking at his shoulder, blowing in his ear, laughing when he swung around blindly. Well, fake-blindly. Eventually, one of them went in for the kill and Derek immediately straightened, shot one hand out, and snapped the Vamp’s neck. It turned to stone first, which suggested to Derek it was a particularly old Vampire, and then slowly began to crumble into dust.

The others around him seemed frozen in confusion for a few seconds, and he took advantage of it, killing two more and letting the last two flee. He knew he should chase after them, finish them off, but they were heading in the direction he’d come from and he was already behind, in his opinion. Three _days_  behind. He might feel guilty about it, and he knew Stiles would be mad at him for it, but he couldn’t backtrack now. He had to keep moving.

He had to get to Stiles.

So, he just continued on his way, heading down the tunnel. He made it through without any other problems, the sun beginning to rise, and worked his way quickly through the dense city. He wanted to hit some trees, because he figured once he was in a forest, he could find himself a cave, turn into a wolf, and take a nap. He hadn’t slept in what felt like days, and he knew he’d start to suffer if he didn’t take a break soon.

He was thankful for his Werewolf genetics, because it got him through the denser part of the city and onto the highway faster than it would’ve taken most people. He stopped when he was a little ways down the highway, abandoned cars all along the roads. He hid behind one of them to open his duffel and get some water and food. He didn’t want to get jumped, and while he knew he could handle most people, he was fairly dehydrated and tired, so he didn’t like his chances.

Once he’d taken a bit of a break, he continued on his way until about mid-day. Then he made his way off the road itself and into the trees. It wasn’t really a _forest_ , but it was dense enough he felt like he could safely hide somewhere and get some rest. He didn’t trust his chances as a human, and he knew it wouldn’t be any safer as a wolf, but he would be harder to spot.

He figured less people would be travelling at night, and he could go his full speed then. He could probably hunt for food in wolf form, as well, and save what little he had in his pack.

All things he had to think about and consider, now. It was inconvenient, though his biggest concern was water. He supposed as long as he found fresh water, he would be fine. He didn’t have to worry about bacteria the way humans did, so he had that going for him, at least.

He ended up finding a small, closed off rock formation. It wasn’t quite a cave, but it was close enough. He shoved the duffel in first, then took his clothes off and pushed those in as well. He shifted into a wolf and crammed himself in as far as he could go with his belongings, then curled up and tried to sleep.

It was nearing dusk when he woke up, and he crawled back out, shifted, changed, and set off again. He repeated this pattern for over a week, moving as quickly as he could through the more populated areas at night, wanting to be away from people. He got attacked every now and then, but mostly humans who thought he was also human. He only ran into one other set of Supernaturals since the Vampires, but they didn’t attack him and they very clearly insisted they were just passing through. They moved wide around each other and Derek was on his way, same as them.

Everyone was so on edge it was hard to remember that some people were just like him. Just trying to get somewhere, check on loved ones, make sure everyone they cared about was okay and safe.

Derek felt like he was going out of his mind most of the time, worrying about Stiles, about whether or not his plane had landed before the EMP. If he’d still been in a car when it had gone off. If he was still _alive_. He could hardly handle it, and he spent a majority of his time at night racing as quickly as he could over as much ground as he could cover. It was harder in the day, so he tended to try and get some sleep, catch up on his rest. It was hard travelling alone, but he had no one he could trust.

He just kept repeating to himself that Stiles was fine. He was home. He had the pack. Scott would keep him safe. Malia was there, Lydia, Liam, they were all there. They would keep Stiles safe. He was fine, Stiles was _fine_.

It was on day fourteen that Derek came across a familiar scent and he stiffened, turning his head and inhaling deeply. The scent was fresh, less than an hour old, and he hastily raced after it, following it almost desperately until he exploded through the front door of what looked to be an old supermarket and had to skid to a halt, guns aimed at him and threats of violence being shouted his way.

“Wait, wait! I know him!”

Derek had never been so fucking happy in his life to see Scott, because there he was, shoving forward through the weapons, a bright smile on his face. His hair was shaggy and he had the beginnings of stubble on his face, along with days worth of dirt and grime, but he was smiling so widely that it almost hurt to look at him.

“Derek!” It was weird being hugged by him, but it had been days since he’d seen a friendly face so Derek actually hugged him back, patting him a few times before pulling away. “Oh, man, I’m so glad to see you!”

“Me too,” Derek said, then immediately asked, “Where’s Stiles?”

Scott’s good cheer faded and he glanced behind Derek, confused. “What do you mean where’s Stiles? I thought he was with you! Isn’t Stiles with you?”

Derek’s heart sank because he should’ve figured Stiles wouldn’t have made it out this far. Even if he’d used those three days as a head start, Derek estimated over a month for himself at his top speed to get from New York to Beacon Hills. There was no way Stiles would be here, just past the border of Iowa, only because of three extra days.

“He went home,” Derek said numbly. “I thought—why are you here?”

Scott looked how Derek felt in that moment. Like someone he cared about was probably dead. Derek had only held out hope because of Scott being back home with Stiles, but now? Scott was here. And Stiles wasn’t.

“I was on a work thing with Deaton,” Scott said quietly. “In Chicago.”

“Where’s Deaton?”

“We got split up.” Scott shook his head. “When everything went to shit, I lost track of him. He’s a Druid, he’s probably fine. I’m trying not to worry about him too much, I know he can take care of himself and he’s gonna head back to BH. I’m just trying to get home. Back to my mom and the others. And Stiles, apparently.”

Scott looked like he was going to be sick. Derek knew that Scott had probably been worried only about those he’d left in Beacon Hills, trusting Derek with Stiles’ safety. Derek had been trusting Scott. Turned out they were both wrong, and Stiles was with neither of them.

“Who’s back home?” Derek asked almost desperately. “Scott, who’s there? If you’re here, and Deaton’s around here, who’s left? Malia?”

Scott shook his head, looking like he was going to be sick. “She, Lydia and Kira went to Vegas two days before the EMP hit. They’re probably heading home like us, but I don’t know. Hayden, Liam and Mason are still at university spread out across the country. Chris might still be in town, but he was getting ready to go visit Isaac in France when I left so I’m not sure if he’s still there. No idea where Peter is.”

That meant there was no one. No one was in Beacon Hills right now. Just Stiles and his father and Scott’s mother.

“Parrish,” Derek blurted out. “What about Parrish?”

Scott looked like he wanted to kiss him. “Parrish is there. Parrish is _totally_  there!”

“Okay,” Derek said, trying to stay calm. “The girls are heading home, they should be there soon, if they aren’t already. Malia and Kira will watch Lydia’s back, they’re all gonna be okay. And the Yukimuras are still there, Noshiko will keep them all safe.”

That wasn’t a lot of people, but Derek wasn’t going to panic yet. If he panicked, it would help no one. He just had to get home, back to Stiles. He’d never wished so badly to have called in his life.

“You weren’t there, then?” Derek asked quietly. “When Stiles...” He couldn’t finish, and Scott searched his face.

“What happened?”

“We had a fight.” It sounded so _stupid_  saying it. Like they were fucking children. “We fought, I don’t even remember what it was about. He went home, but I didn’t—I never called. I didn’t find out if he landed. I don’t even know if he made it before the EMP.”

Derek scrubbed at his face with both hands, trying to get himself back under control. He wouldn’t do anyone any good breaking down, he just didn’t know what to do. He’d been holding it together since he’d left New York only because Scott had been with Stiles. To find out now that he _wasn’t_  was kind of a lot to take in.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Stiles to take care of himself, it was just... a lot. People and Supernaturals all coming out at once. And Stiles was... he had a smart mouth. And he was gorgeous. And there were always people out to hurt him, people who might want revenge, enemies coming for Scott and going for his human instead.

“Derek,” Scott insisted quietly. “It’s Stiles. It’s gonna be okay, _he’s_  gonna be okay.”

“Yeah.” Derek cleared his throat, forcing himself back under control, and looked past Scott. The group of people were still there, but they were talking amongst themselves, their various weapons lowered. He nodded towards them. “Who’re they?”

“People from the work thing I was at, mostly,” Scott said, turning to look at them. “Some are Supernatural. Some aren’t. Picked up a few people on the way.” He motioned a pregnant woman holding a toddler. “She wasn’t gonna make it on her own, I couldn’t leave her behind. She took the whole Supernatural thing pretty well, actually.”

Derek felt guilty for what he was about to say next, but he had to say it. “You’re moving slowly.”

Scott winced and nodded. “Yeah, we are.”

“I can’t—”

“I know.” Scott grabbed his arm. “Derek, this is good. You can go on ahead. Take Callum, he’s an ex-Hunter, he knows Chris. He was coming with us to keep everyone safe, but we’re a bigger group now, and I can’t...” Scott trailed off. “My mom is there, Derek. My mom, and Stiles, and the sheriff. I don’t want to lose them.”

Derek nodded. “Will Callum slow me down?”

“Maybe a touch, he’s human, but you’ll have someone watching your back. I’ll get there as soon as I can, but it’s gonna take me time with this group.”

Derek would’ve preferred Scott at his back, or even no one at all, but he acknowledged that some support was better than none. Even if it was an ex-Hunter, which chaffed. But if the guy had been around for this long and hadn’t killed any of the Supernaturals, Derek was willing to trust him at least a little bit.

Scott patted his shoulder, then turned and went to talk to this Callum person. He was older than Derek had expected, at least ten years older than Chris. He had a severe expression, but he was nodding along to what Scott was telling him, then patted Scott’s shoulder once before turning to someone else in the group. They hugged briefly and then Callum walked over to Derek, hoisting a backpack further onto his shoulder and holding one hand out.

“Callum Andrews.”

“Derek Hale.” Derek shook his hand briefly. “You ready?”

“Scott’s been good to these people. Least I can do is help keep his safe back home, regroup with Argent.” Callum nodded. “Let’s go.”

Derek cast one last glance at Scott, the two of them nodding to one another, and he called for him to be safe and be quick, then he left with Callum.

It was hard, being on the road during these times with someone he didn’t know. He acknowledged that years ago, he never would’ve even given any thought to this. It would’ve been a hard pass. But now? Now, he was desperate, and he was a little more trusting.

Callum was a good companion. They never wavered from their course, they stopped only when necessary, and they took turns keeping watch while the other slept. He could tell Callum was pushing himself harder to keep up with him, and Derek appreciated it, but he also didn’t want the man to drop dead, so he tried to slow down a little.

They didn’t talk much. Most of their conversations related to where to find shelter or where they could get clean water since Callum couldn’t drink from anywhere like Derek could. Callum also had a map, which was helpful, because it allowed them to keep track of where they were and where they were headed.

It was depressing every time they looked at the map, because Beacon Hills was still so far. Almost a month into his travels, and they’d only just passed the halfway point.

Derek pulled the photos out a lot to stare at them. He liked to remember Stiles when he was smiling and happy. He didn’t want to think about what he would do if he showed up at Beacon Hills and he wasn’t there. If he’d never made it back. The sheriff would never forgive Derek.

He’d probably react the same way as Scott. Thrilled to see him, because it meant he had Stiles. But Derek _didn’t_  have Stiles. He didn’t, and it killed him. If they’d been heading back together—because Derek knew they would, Stiles would never abandon his father—at least they’d be _together_. He would have him, could keep him safe, wouldn’t be killing himself moving as fast as he possibly could.

But he didn’t have Stiles. And so, he pushed. He pushed and pushed and pushed until he worried he might kill Callum, and he forced himself to slow down.

It was on day thirty-three, while they were making their way across the border from Wyoming to Utah, that Callum finally asked what he’d obviously been wondering since they’d started travelling together.

“Who are you rushing home to so fast?”

Derek turned to him, the two of them walking along the side of a highway. Callum had his rifle at the ready and Derek had acquired a handgun along the way, which he held in one hand just in case. He tried not to use the claws and fangs unless he had to.

“My boyfriend,” he admitted, facing forward again, the two of them walking quickly along the road. “He’s all I have left.” He couldn’t help the slight downturn of his lips. “We had a fight. He left the day the EMP went off. I don’t even know if he made it home.”

“Mm.” Callum sounded sympathetic, but it was obvious this wasn’t his wheelhouse. “What were you fighting about?”

“I don’t even remember,” he said quietly.

“Couldn’t have been important.”

“It wasn’t,” Derek said, turning to glance at him. “It was the stupidest thing in the world. Just—petty little things that were irritating and could’ve been ignored. It was a small fight, then it got bigger, and louder, and angrier. He left the next morning, said he needed to clear his head, was heading home to his dad. I didn’t worry about it, because it was Stiles, and I knew he’d come back.” Derek felt his chest ache. “I always knew he’d come back.”

“Stiles is Scott’s friend, right?” Callum asked. “The human?”

“Yeah.” Derek laughed slightly. “The only human in our pack.”

“Must be one hell of a human.”

“He is.” Derek smiled over at him. “How do you know Argent?”

“Our daughters were friends,” Callum explained, hoisting his rifle over one shoulder, but still keeping an eye on their surroundings. They made a good team, because Derek heard things before Callum did, but Callum had a really keen eye and often caught movement long before Derek did. “My daughter passed away before the Argents moved to Beacon Hills.” His tone turned sad then and Derek could smell it on him. The misery trying to take hold. “Drunk driver. She was fourteen.”

“I’m really sorry,” Derek said softly.

“Allison wasn’t much older, as I understand it.” Callum cleared his throat, trying to regain control. “Sixteen?”

“Seventeen. Nogitsune.”

“What’s that? Don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

Derek went about explaining what a Nogitsune was, being sure to keep Stiles’ name out of it. He was in the middle of explaining the actual cause of death when Callum forced him to stop. He’d seen something shining off one of the abandoned cars’ mirrors, and when Derek listened, he could hear shuffling. People moving around, planning an ambush.

They always tried to aim low when they fired, because they didn’t want to kill anyone unless they had no choice. This time would be no different. They continued forward cautiously, and as soon as they were close enough, one of the people behind the cars rose and fired at Callum. Derek jumped in front of him, taking the bullet in his left pectoral and roaring in pain.

The second that shot was fired, all bets were off. Kill or be killed. If they’d had guns aimed at them, and were ordered to give up their food, no one had to be hurt. But they’d aimed to kill, and so, Derek and Callum would respond in kind.

He and Callum ducked behind another set of cars, Derek digging the bullet from his skin with a snarl while Callum covered him. The firefight was short, neither side wanting to use too many bullets. It was made easier when the morons came at them with knives.

Callum had a hunting knife and Derek just used his claws. It was almost unfair, these moronic ‘badasses’ trying to ambush unsuspecting travellers. They wouldn’t be ambushing anyone else, because Derek and Callum made quick work of them.

Derek always made sure to be the one injured. It was easier for him to survive an injury, not so much Callum. He’d gotten sliced in the arm this time, but it wasn’t deep and they used some of the assholes’ supplies to clean off the wound. They also grabbed whatever food and water they could find, along with spare ammo and additional guns, then set off once more.

They were well into Utah when Callum finally asked Derek why he never used the pillow, or got rid of it. Derek explained it belonged to Stiles, and he even admitted having it close made him feel better. It used to smell heavily of Stiles. It had lost some of its scent during their travels, but being in the bag meant it had rubbed off on the stuff around it. He knew it wouldn’t be long before it disappeared, but he could hold out long enough to find Stiles.

Because he would. He _would_.

It was something of a relief when they finally pulled out the map and were into Nevada. Derek’s heart was pounding while staring at the small stretch that remained between him and Stiles.

It had been forty-two days. Forty-two days, and he was in Nevada from New York.

“We can probably make it there in four days if we push,” Callum said, inspecting the map. He glanced up at Derek. “I’ll push as hard as I can for you.”

“Thank you.” Derek looked back down. He was almost there. He was so fucking close he could taste it.

They didn’t sleep for very long that day. Only a few hours each, then they set out again. They tried to stick to the trees as much as possible. Derek was so tanned he didn’t even remember what his skin actually looked like, and his hair had lightened up from being in the sun so much. Callum looked much the same, his hair almost white it was so blond. His skin was just as dark as Derek’s, and it made him wonder if they weren’t both horrendously sunburned and just unable to feel it through their adrenaline.

Derek had been running on Adrenaline for forty-two days, he felt like something could take a chunk out of him and he wouldn’t even feel it.

He could hardly stand it when they entered California two and a half days later, the two of them moving so quickly Derek was impressed with how resilient Callum was for a human. They had to stop somewhere in the middle of Eldorado National Forest, because he didn’t want Callum to die _and_  they were out of water. Derek went off to find some, and he and Callum could only hope it was safe for the human to drink because there was nothing else around.

Derek caught them a few rabbits for dinner, since they’d long ago run out of real food. Callum found them some mushrooms he was confident were safe to eat and they hunkered down for a meal. Derek tried not to let horrible thoughts flash through his mind while they took turns sleeping that night.

What if Stiles hadn’t made it home? What if he had and something had gotten to him before Derek arrived? Worse, what if something was killing him _just_  as Derek showed up? What if the sheriff was dead and Stiles blamed Derek because he wasn’t there? What if Melissa was dead? What if Stiles was dead?

God, what if Stiles was dead? Derek could hardly breathe just thinking about it. He wanted to both race home and stay away, because he didn’t know what he’d do. He didn’t know what he would _do_. It had been over a month, forty-five days now. What if Stiles thought Derek was dead and had moved on? What if Derek showed up and Stiles was still mad at him?

“Son,” Callum’s voice said, making him stiffen. “You need to get some sleep. We’re in for a long day tomorrow, because I know you’re gonna push all the way home. And if we do that, you need your rest.”

“I know,” Derek admitted. “I just can’t stop thinking.”

“I’ve spent enough time with both you and Scott to be confident your friend is just fine. Get some sleep, and in twenty-four hours, you’ll be home.”

Derek closed his eyes and tried to force himself to sleep. It took a while, but he finally managed, just going over all the happy memories he had with Stiles. They ended up turning into nightmares once he was unconscious and he woke in a cold sweat a few hours later.

Callum seemed to recognize that was as much sleep as Derek was going to get and they set out again. Derek had to help guide Callum along because of the late hour, the forest pitch black, but they made good time. They were halfway through the next city when the sun began to rise, and within a few hours, they were at Folsom. They took another break out of the way of people, eating, drinking and sleeping, but only for a few hours before they were on the road again. The goal today was to hit Sacramento, and it was past midnight when they finally reached it.

They were both exhausted, and malnourished, and dehydrated, but they were also only eight hours out from Beacon Hills by foot. He glanced at Callum to ascertain how he would fare, and Callum just smiled and nodded, even as his shoulders drooped.

Derek appreciated it, and in exchange he took all of Callum’s bags so that all he had to carry was his rifle. They set out, walking through the sleeping streets of the city, making their way quickly through Sacramento so they could continue on their way.

The cities were the worst for ambushes and Sacramento was no different, but they managed to get through without any injuries—on Callum’s part, anyway—and without having to kill anyone. Most people were just desperate, only a few assholes were having fun with this new world they lived in.

The rest of their walk was conducted in silence, and Derek felt like he might hyperventilate when they finally reached the large sign that proclaimed ‘Welcome to Beacon Hills.’ They were still a ways out, but if they cut through the Preserve, they could make it to the loft—provided it was still standing. He could leave Callum there, let him rest and sleep, and go find Stiles.

They were both practically dead on their feet, but Callum grabbed the back of Derek’s shirt so he could be led through the woods. The sun had already begun to rise by now, so it wouldn’t be long before Callum could see on his own. He eventually released Derek when sunlight started streaming through the trees, picking his way through the underbrush and various tree roots.

Derek was really starting to lose his composure, because they were _so close_ and yet so fucking far. He inadvertently sped up, Callum calling for him to slow down before he hurt himself. Derek tried, but couldn’t, and he slapped a tree branch away, taking another step when Callum shouted his name.

Whipping around, Derek thought something had attacked his friend, but Callum had raised his rifle just as something slammed into Derek from the side. He skid along the ground, heard a loud yowl, a shot, and then something was on top of him. He struggled to keep the thing’s mouth away from his neck, hands bleeding because he was gripping at the huge thing’s teeth. It looked like some kind of deformed Sabertooth tiger, twice as big as Derek, and with a mouth bigger than his head.

He could hear Callum cursing, likely because his gun had either jammed or he was out of bullets. Derek’s arms were shaking trying to get the thing off him. He was too close. He’d come _too fucking close_! He wasn’t going to die now, he wasn’t!

He could see Callum racing for him out of the corner of his eye, gun raised likely to whack at the beast with it, when another shot rang out and the cat-hybrid thing on top of him roared and whipped around, Derek releasing its teeth, his hands beginning to heal.

Another shot rang out and the beast staggered, turning to try and rush at whatever was attacking it, but one last shot had it fall over, black ooze spilling out from beneath its considerable bulk.

“Are you okay?” Callum demanded, reaching him and helping him back to his feet. “Derek, are you hurt?”

“Nine years I’ve known you, and still can’t help but get into trouble, huh SourWolf?”

Derek stiffened, because he knew that voice. He fucking _knew_  that voice!

He whipped around, eyes searching for the source, and saw a figure sauntering out of the trees, rifle over one shoulder and sparkle in his brown eyes. His hair was longer and shaggy, he had a pathetic start of a beard, and his clothes were worn and baggy on him, but it _was_  him.

It was _him_!

“Stiles!”

Derek dropped everything he was carrying, because it would slow him down. He’d never moved so fast in his life, closing the distance between them and slamming into Stiles so hard he was sure he’d hurt him. He didn’t care. He held him as tightly as he could, face buried in his neck. One hand was at his lower back, the other buried in his brown hair, pulling him closer.

Stiles had both hands clenched in the back of his shirt, tugging harshly and breathing hard against Derek’s skin. His heart was going a mile a minute, and Derek was positive his own was going faster because he was here. Stiles was here, and Derek had found him, and he was okay, and God, he was _okay_!

“I’m sorry,” Derek said. “Stiles, I’m so sorry. I don’t care what we were fighting about, I don’t care if we fight a thousand times over, I’m never letting you leave again. I’m never letting you go again. I love you so much. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, God, I can’t believe you’re here.”

Stiles was shaking, one hand leaving Derek’s shirt to bury in his hair, trying to pull him closer even though Derek was already crushing them together as much as was possible.

“I love you, Derek,” he said against his skin. “I’m sorry I left. I shouldn’t have left. I was so scared, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I’m so sorry, and I love you so fucking much.”

There was movement behind Stiles, but Derek couldn’t bring himself to let him go. He could tell it was just the sheriff anyway, the man coming forward and letting out a small laugh, patting Derek’s shoulder on his way by. There were introductions behind him, the sheriff and Callum obviously catching up.

“I saw Scott,” Derek said, still hugging Stiles.

“You did? Is he okay? Where is he?”

“He was bringing a larger group back. He wanted me to go ahead. For you, for his mom. Callum came with me. He knows Argent.”

“Shit,” Stiles said with a wet laugh, tightening his grip on Derek’s hair. “Scott’s mom is fine. We’re all mostly fine. Noshiko was amazing, she, Jackson and Parrish helped with all the Supernatural attacks until Kira came back. She got split up from Malia and Lydia, but they made it home safe, too.”

“Jackson’s here?” Derek asked, surprised.

“Yeah, he was visiting Danny. Him and Ethan. Ethan left to go find Chris, he was on his way to the airport when the EMP hit. Took them a few days to get back, but they’re here, too.”

“To be honest, I don’t care who’s here and who’s not, I only care that _you_  are and that you’re _safe_.”

Stiles laughed wetly and finally started to pull away, but not so far that they weren’t still pressed together. “I wanted to go,” he admitted, scrubbing at the wetness on his face. “I wanted to leave the second the EMP hit. I was getting ready to, all packed and everything, but—”

“But I wouldn’t let him,” the sheriff said, coming up beside them and patting Derek’s shoulder once, hand staying there and squeezing. “It’s good to see you, Derek.”

“You too, sir.”

“Dad insisted the first thing you’d do was make your way here. He said it would be stupid if I left and then you showed up. I didn’t want to listen, because I knew you’d be alone and I couldn’t handle the thought of losing you.”

“But,” the sheriff interjected, “every time the dumbass tried to sneak out, I hauled him back inside and eventually he agreed to wait it out. But only until Scott came back. He said if Scott came home before you did, he was leaving to find you.”

“Good thing you didn’t,” Derek said with a laugh, bringing one hand up to cup Stiles’ face, brushing his thumb beneath his eye. “I’d have been pretty mad if I almost killed myself getting here only to find out you’d made it back to New York.”

“Works out,” Stiles said with a grin. “Beacon Hills is a fortress, we did pretty well. Probably one of the safest places in the US right now.”

“Could do with a few more magic users,” the sheriff insisted. “Where’s Deaton? Have you heard from him?”

Derek shook his head, but Callum was the one who answered. “He and Scott got separated in Chicago. He’s likely fine and on his way back, there were a lot of Supernaturals at the conference we were at. It’s possible he joined another group heading in this direction, same as Scott did.”

“Speaking of Supernaturals, what’s that?” Derek asked, turning to look over his shoulder at the giant cat thing.

“Breakfast,” Stiles informed him. “Good thing you showed up, you can help us get it back to the station.”

Derek laughed, but let Stiles grab his hand and pull him towards it. He paused when he saw the sheriff holding his duffel and forced Stiles to a stop. He brought him over to the bag, and unzipped it just enough so Stiles could see what was right on top.

“Did you bring my pillow?!” he blurted out, eyes wide.

“I did,” Derek said with a smile. “It survived the entire journey. Might be a little dirty, but I knew you’d want it.”

Stiles grabbed at his face and kissed him. It was probably the most ridiculous thing in the world to get kissed for, but Derek just held him tightly and kissed him back. He still couldn’t believe he’d made it, that he was here, that _Stiles_  was here. That they were both safe, and together, and _alive_.

He knew things were going to get much harder before they got easier. He knew there were still a lot of loved ones unaccounted for—Scott, for one, and Deaton as well as Peter—but they’d made it. They were alive, and they were going to work this out, and Derek was sure things would improve over time. They couldn’t be out of power forever, someone was going to fix this.

And until then, he didn’t care how he had to live, so long as he got to do it with Stiles.

As long as he had Stiles with him, Derek could live anywhere. And he was so, so glad he hadn’t lost him.

Fights were stupid, and he was _never_  going to fight with Stiles ever again.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).  
> (If it still exists by the time you read this lol)


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